


Serpent Heart

by Annasanvk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annasanvk/pseuds/Annasanvk
Summary: Pansy Parkinson was the girl who'd told Hogwarts they should turn over Harry Potter to the Dark lord when she was only seventeen-years-old and that made the remaining years of her adolescence a living hell.Harry Potter had basically destroyed her life and therefore, she could have done without seeing him ever, ever again. Fate on the other hand, had different plans. This will be a four part story (lightly based on Jane the Virgin).





	1. Part One, The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> This particular plot bunny (in the form of a four part story) was difficult to resist. To me Pansy Parkinson seemed to be a slightly vain personality, but I like trying to write about new characters. Therefore, I couldn't help myself and I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know what you all think!
> 
> (Post-war and Post-hogwarts. The characters used in this story are not mine, but belong to J.K. Rowling)
> 
>  
> 
> 'I am the one who says 'fuck you'', Benjamin Garcia, 'Ode to the Corpse Flower'

Part one, The Hospital  
‘No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’

12th of June 2002  
The air was hot, heavy and muggy from the early summer rain shower, seeping in through the partially open terrace doors. Pansy Parkinson was expensively dressed. She’s wearing her favourite lime green dress-robe and her hair fell down just below her shoulders. Her nose still often stung and she caught Draco looking at it, like a curious toddler being in a toy-store for the first time, more than once. He says he’d never noticed something off about her nose and although she got angry at first, later it only cemented her feelings that he’d never been romantically interested in her. At school he liked her well enough, she showered him with attention and threw herself at him at every opportunity that arose. But in the end he ran away screaming and now, he was together with fucking Granger…

“Draco, for Merlin’s sake, stop looking at my nose!” She snaps finally, dropping her cup in its saucer with a loud ding.

“I can’t help it!” He retorts defensively. “It’s odd.”

“It’s better!”

He made a guffawing sort of sound and she glared. At twenty-two, Draco Malfoy was still as articulate as his seventeen-year-old-self had been. After the war, he decided he was done with Britain and people who pretended to understand and— well, Pansy was sure he just wanted to leave his father and mother’s grasp and try and live for himself— either way, he travelled away. He had a light summer tan from Australia and she had to actually make a phone call — a bloody phone call — to speak to him. 

He looked better. 

Regular meals did him good. 

“What did you want to meet for?” He asked, eyes now firmly glued to his hands.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She starts pleasantly and she watches with satisfaction as his lips pursed together. “It’s been five years. Are you back for real?”

He shifts in his seat and takes a sip of his coffee. Pansy hates coffee. It smells bad, looks like liquid mud and the only time she’d accepted a plastic cup with the hot liquid she got hysterical. 

“For now,” he decides on, “I’m not flying back tomorrow. I’ll stay with mother for a while.”

“And what about— her?” Pansy asks distastefully. 

“She has a name, Pansy.”

She sneers.

When he’d returned, Pansy was sure she would finally have a chance with him, but instead of being a broken, single man, he was an engaged, not-so-broken man. As if summoned by the Devil himself, Hermione Granger stepped into the parlour. Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot and her cheeks were flushed from the heat. 

“Granger,” she greeted stiffly and watched with satisfaction as Granger’s shoulder-blades lock together. 

“Parkinson,” she muttered and stepped up behind Draco, wrapping an arm around his neck. Pansy knew she does it to pester her. Or the very least to mark her territory. 

“How’s mother?” 

“Better,” Granger answered, “she slept well and I think the medicine is really working.”

Draco’s face relaxed and she took the cup of coffee from him to have a sip. “Yuck, how many sugars is in this?”

“Three cubes.” 

She made a face. Her skin was tanned as well, making the cluster of freckles around her nose stand out. They returned to take care of a very sick Narcissa Malfoy. It was the only reason, Draco decided it was time to set foot in the country he despised so much again. His mother’s health had been poor at the best of days after the trials — the Malfoy family had gotten away unscathed — but took a turn for the worse a week ago when the healers discovered the early stages of Dragon Pox during a routine examination. It wasn’t necessarily lethal. Many people got better from it, but you needed a lot of care. Care that Lucius Malfoy was unable to give. 

“—Pansy?”

“What?” She asked absentmindedly. Granger had made herself comfortable in Draco’s lap.

“How did your examination go?”

“Oh?” Draco asked with interest and she gave him an annoyed look. Did he understand what kind of checkup she’d been through?

“It was fine. I prefer Healers though.”

“Well, they did a good job on your nose,” Draco supplied unhelpfully and Granger ran her fingers through his hair.

“Tact, Draco.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I didn’t think anything was wrong with her nose, but well, you said yourself they did an excellent job.” 

“So glad you think my nose-job went well, Granger.” Pansy drawled and Granger shrugged unapologetically. “Anyway, when I was there, I saw Ginevra Weasley.”

Granger’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” 

Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter’s fiancé, was a Pureblood witch and although her family was known for their curiosity with Muggle objects, the youngest Weasley had always been reluctant to endorse herself with Muggle objects. 

“Yes,” Pansy continued, “I think she was in the room next to mine for a check-up. Did you know Potter wanted a child already?”

“Yes,” Granger retorted stiffly, “I would think everyone knows about Harry child wish, Pansy.” Pansy rolled her eyes and crossed her legs at the ankles. Blowing a lock of hair out of her face she leant her back against the chair and pursed her lips.

“You’re missing the point, Granger.” 

Telling Granger she did not understand something was always a sure way to ruffle her feathers and this time was no different. Her face turned a deep red and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not missing the point. Harry told me himself he wanted to finish Auror training before starting with children.”

“Well,” Pansy drawled insultingly, “that might be the case but she was there for IVF. What other checkup did you think I was going through?”

“What—”

“IVF, Artificial insemination, Draco.” Granger curtly explained and the blond drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

“Basically they insert a needle with sperm into the female’s vagina,” Pansy explained gleefully and Draco looked rather sick with the idea.

“Right,” he muttered pushing Granger off his lap and straightened himself with an air of awkwardness, “Hermione, feel free to explain that to me after she is gone.”

“No, Draco—” the bushy-haired witch started but Pansy’s crush since Hogwarts disappeared through the terrace doors outside. “That was mean.”

“It’s hardly my fault he gets a hissy fit when female problems are discussed.”

“It’s not even correct.” Granger huffed. “You don’t insert a needle with sperm, you collect an ovum from the woman’s ovaries and fertilise them in a laboratory with the male’s sperm.”

“Fine, then you insert the sperm and the egg into the woman, who cares. It’s what the Hospital department does when someone is infertile.”

“It’s not the only thing they do—”

“Yeah, yeah!”

Granger gave her an annoyed look and peered at the terrace door. Draco was nowhere in sight and Pansy grimaced. Now she had to deal with Granger instead of Draco. She took a long sip of her tea and got to her feet. She doubted Draco would return anytime soon and bid his girlfriend goodbye.

4th of July 2002  
It was Potter’s graduation party. In Harry Potter’s honour, the complete atrium was decorated and a ballroom was created on the first floor. The ballroom was crowded with people, cocktail tables were scattered around and couples moved slowly over the dance floor. Harry Potter and his girlfriend and fiancé Ginny Weasley were dancing there as well. Apart from a short internship, he was now a full-fledged Auror. Pansy grimaced into her glass of wine and looked at the various couples littering over the Ministry floor. The wooden floor was already covered in shiny spots were several guests had already spilt their drinks, yet, couples moved over the wide expanse without a care in the world. When Pansy was young, she’d loved dances. The music drummed through her bloodstream, like liquid adrenaline surging through her system, but now—

She rolled her shoulders and carefully pushed a lock of dark hair out of her face. Three older ladies were huddled together, discussing the latest fashion and the several charities they could but probably would not donate to. Pansy didn’t feel interested enough in the subject to contribute and she raised her arm for another drink, this time opting for a glass of water instead. Anything to wash away the unpleasant taste in her mouth.

When she’d arrived together with Daphne Greengrass — who looked as beautiful as ever — a ripple of scandalised whispers went through the crowd. Pansy hadn’t exactly been popular after the war, and although her friend and roommate had been neutral during the war, her association with Pansy didn’t do her any favours. 

“Pour boy-wonder is tense,” Daphne commented, her dark blue dress hugging her waist snugly and she took a flute of strawberry champagne from a passing tray.

Pansy followed Daphne’s stare to the couple in the middle of the dance floor. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley moved along the floor in a clumsy waltz. She noticed that the messy-haired boy was indeed tense, his jaw locked and the tendons in his neck popped up. The youngest Weasley girl was holding a flute of champagne in her hand her face twisted into a furious snarl. Pansy frowned.

“They were fighting,” the blonde continued, her blonde hair falling down in perfect ringlets down her back. Half of the male population and like ten percent of the female population of the room was looking at her in a combination of lust and envy. 

“They were?”

“Yes,” Daphne replied, taking a long sip of her wine, “I passed them when I came from the loo. He was telling her that she shouldn’t be drinking. That, just because it didn’t work this time, didn’t mean she should be drinking this much.”

“Wonderful, I now know more about Potter’s sexual situation, than I ever wanted to.” Pansy drawled, fingering the stem of her wineglass.

“Sexual?”

“What else did you think ‘because it didn’t work this time’ meant?” 

“Hm,” Daphne cocked her head to the side, “Well, that would be logical, wouldn’t it? You’d already seen them in that Muggle clinic.”

“Yes, she was in the room adjacent from me. Daph, do you like it?” Pansy suddenly asked, pursing her lips and frowning at the wine glass.

“The wine? Yes, why shouldn’t I?”

“It tastes as if there’s cork in it.”

“Whatever, Pans,” Daphne muttered, plucking Pansy’s glass out of her hand and started sipping from it. Pansy ignored the rolling of her stomach and dug her nails into her upper arms. 

“Potter and Weasley try to for a child.”

“Trying? You would think that family is fertile enough…”

“Hm, I doubt it. They are trying for a child with the help of a Muggle hospital.”

Daphne snorted, flattening her hand over the plates of her dress-robe. “The same Hospital you are a patient at?”

“Yes,” she admitted softly.

Daphne had wanted a child since she was fourteen years old. That she hadn’t been able to find a man she loved or even had been able to stand seemed like a problem, but with the help of IVF it did’t matter. She didn’t need a man. It could be a solo act. The only thing she would need was a wizard (who was not too against the idea of Muggle Hospitals). It seemed like the perfect idea, but for now it was only an idea. She had just been there for a checkup.

Potter grabbed Weasley’s arm and yanked the glass from her fingers. His cheeks flushed pink and Weasley’s face started to match her hair. They were now arguing in hushed whispers and she tried to take the champagne flute back but Potter didn’t bulge, stopping dancing all together. It seemed his graduation party wasn’t running flawlessly.

“And here I was thinking it wouldn’t be entertaining…” Daphne muttered, depositing her glass on a floating tray that passed them. A House-Elf scurried along behind it. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, I have to pee again.” She muttered annoyed, readjusting the bow around her middle.

“Jesus Pans,”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she muttered quickly, waving at her blonde friend before she could get into an elaborate explanation as to why excessively peeing was a bad thing to do. She quietly eased out of the hall and stepping out into the corridor. The large, darkened hallway was blissfully silent and she shuffled past the portraits lining the walls. 

Pansy always had a small bladder, but as of late it had been ridiculous. A traitorous blush crept up her neck as she moved down the hallway and fingered the straps of her black, leather handbag. The party wasn’t even enjoyable and she had always disliked Harry Potter, who was the centre of attention that evening. He wasn’t too fond of her either (which despite her offended behaviour whenever they met, wasn’t surprising) and now she was at his stupid party.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a clock in an outer hallway noisily chimed. With a loud groan, she stepped into the toilet and slammed the door behind her. One girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen looked up from the bathroom mirror but didn’t say anything. 

Pansy ignored the accusing look — more than used to it by now— and locked herself in a toilet cubicle. She stared at her knees feeling a bit nauseous. Normally, she enjoyed a glass of wine, but now even the memory of the wine’s scent added to the sudden nausea. She felt the blood forsake her cheeks and her heart began to thud wildly.

“Oh God,”

She got up slowly, ignoring the darkness around the edges of her vision remained. She carefully moved out of the toilet, hoping she could find Daphne and get her to take her home before she would faint again. She had been feeling under the weather all day, but just when she thought she’d felt better the sickness was back. 

She stepped into the same corridor she’d come from. 

There were more people there now and she realised she’d been in the cubicle far longer than she’d thought she was. An older man was giving her a worried stare and she wondered if she looked as bad as she felt. It must have been worse if she’d literally lost half an hour of her time without even noticing and her hands started to feel cold.

‘Oh God, I’m not going to make it.’

Everything around her became dark. A cold thrill ran up her back and the cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She felt herself fall, but couldn’t do anything but wait for impact. It never came.

 

To be continued...


	2. Revelations

Part two, Revelations 

5th of July 2002  
It was dark. An enfolding darkness pressed on Pansy’s eyes so heavily her eyelids felt as if they were glued together. Apart from her heavy lids her mouth was sandpaper dry. She just couldn’t understand what had happened. Slowly, ever so slowly, she rubbed at her eyes waiting for the heaviness to disappear. With a groan she slowly sat up. The room she was in was simple. 

A small bed , simple white drapes before the windows and an old brown desk with a large mirror to one wall, which must have been a female’s choice if the decorations were any indication. She frowned. She didn’t know the room. She didn’t even knew how she’d gotten here and Pansy ran her fingers carefully through her hair. She was still wearing her black dress from the party and her shoes were neatly placed beside the desk. 

“What the hell?”

She leant her forehead against the cold window. The rain pattered down erratically, creating large puddles on the streets and on the sidewalk. Far below she could see a neat little park with lush green trees and a long stretch of grass. Small, dark green park benches stood near the high iron-wrought fences and a man with a large mustache and a polka-dotted umbrella leant in the crook of his elbow was walking his dog. 

He was a Muggle. She could tell.

The way he held himself. The Muggle clothing. 

He definitely was a Muggle.

Which meant, she was in a Muggle neighbourhood. Pansy’s first instinct — to scream bloody murder — seemed like a good, valid option, but there was no real way she could have been with Muggles. She’d been at an Ministry party. Even with the new ridiculous laws, concerning Muggles, they didn’t come there. She curled her fingers tightly into a ball and jutted her lower lip out. 

“Where am I?”

“Grimmauld Place,” a voice behind her stated dryly and she almost screamed.

Twirling around she looked up in Harry Potter’s face. His cheek was purple and his glasses stood ajar on his face. 

“Potter?”

“The one and only, Parkinson.” He drawled lightly and she ground her jaws together. 

“Why am I here?”

“Don’t you remember?” He asked simply leaning against the door jamb, a black-haired dog was standing next to him, tail wiggling behind him. 

“No, apparently I don’t—” she started, feeling slightly dizzy. 

“Fuck, Parkinson?”

Slightly calloused hands stabilised her and she grabbed his wrist tightly between her trembling fingers. “Yeah, that happened last night. Just, you’re not sick.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not sick. I mean, I checked.” He explained awkwardly. 

“You checked?” She screeched and she felt his fingers tighten around his arms and his eyes twitched. “What do you mean you checked?”

“I checked your temperature,” he muttered and she pulled her arms free.

“Well, that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling bad.” She hissed, sitting down on the windowsill. 

Potter’s dog, some kind of wolfish breed, peered up at her with large brown eyes. His tail swished from right to left, head cocked to the side. She wasn’t too fond of dogs. Ever since Daphne’s Labrador had bitten her ten years ago she was rather afraid of them — bordering on a dog-phobia —and she tightened her hold onto the windowsill. 

“No, it doesn’t mean that. Do I need to summon a healer?” He asked awkwardly and she glared at him. 

She wasn’t feeling well enough to travel home by herself and knowing Daphne, she’d roped the worst kind of man around and was probably still shagging him silly. Knowing Daphne she was probably doing so into their living room and she could do without walking in on them. She would probably feel even worse if she saw one of Daphne’s (admittedly) good-looking one nightstands starkers again. 

As another wave of dizziness hit her, she nodded her head: “A healer would be appreciated.”

He sighed — in a way her father would do when he thought her mother was being difficult — and left the small bedroom. Pansy remained seated on the windowsill, rubbing her hands together. Her feet were hurting her breasts felt heavy and she felt furiously annoyed. Of all the people who could have lent her a helping end it had to be Potter. Than again, it actually made sense. Of course, Potter was the one to help her. Only Pansy could have so much Karma against her that he would be the one to take her to his home. 

“The only thing missing is the Weaslette stomping in and asking me what the bloody hell I’m doing here.” She muttered under her breath, stumbling away from the windowsill and to the bed. She sat down with a heavy sigh and waited for the Healer. 

She didn’t have to wait long. The healer was a tall man, with a tanned face full of sharp planes and edges. He would have been considered handsome if it wasn’t for his crooked, off-centred nose. “Healer Patterson,” he greeted cooly and she nodded. 

His examination was short and to-the-point. He pushed her back on the bed and did several simple diagnostic spells — even the ones for pregnancy, which was outrageous — and the doctor nodded. He did two more diagnostic spells she’d seen her mother do when she was pregnant with her little brother (stillborn two months later) and her mouth became even dryer. 

“Pregnant,” the healer nodded and Potter’s expression turned sour, “I estimate you’re a bit over three weeks. The child is healthy, although I suspect you’re in for a rough few months.”

“Rough few months?”

“You’re young,” the Healer shrugged, “and you’re magic has already reacted to protect the foetus. It’s a normal feat in magical children, but it also ensures side-effects like morning sickness, low blood pressure and an intolerance for alcohol.”

The latter of that statement was said with disdain and Pansy realised he’d recognised her sickness symptoms as a reaction to the little alcohol she had the evening before. She couldn’t say she cared for his judgement, but then again, she was still coming to terms with a pregnancy—

“It’s not possible,” she whispered horrified. Her last boyfriend, an admittedly terrible mistake, had left three months ago and she hadn’t been sexually active with anyone since then. Hadn’t even seen anyone she’d been remotely interested in. “How the hell could this have happened?”

“Yeah, sure Parkinson. We have no idea how this happened.” Potter told her dryly, making quotation marks with his fingers. “It probably was an Immaculate Conception.”

The Healer pursed his lips in what seemed like amusement and took a step back. “I’m sure the both of you understand how this happened.”

“W-what—” Potter spluttered stepping back with pink dusting his cheeks, “you-re wrong— very w-wrong! We—”

But the Healer was no longer paying attention, muttering to himself why celebrities couldn’t just use the normal spells like anybody else and readjusted the straps of his medical bag. “Mister Potter. Miss Parkinson. Good day.”

“He thinks that you and I—”

“No need to explain, Potter, I understood perfectly well what he meant.” She muttered, stumbling to the bed and grabbed her purse from the small nightstand. Retrieving her personal organiser she flipped through the pages. Dinner with her parents, dinner with Daphne and Aiden (a temporary romantic interest), the appointment at the clinic, a day at the spa—

The day at the clinic that specialised in pregnancies.

“That bloody woman,”

“I doubt a woman was responsible for this, Parkinson,” Potter drawled sarcastically and she gave him such a furious look that he held his hands up in surrender. “Just saying Parkinson.”

She ignored his mumbled half-apologies, stumbled out of the bedroom and left his home in a less than graceful manner. When she returned home Daphne was waiting for her looking like the cat who ate the canary. Her blonde hair was up in a most difficult braid and her make-up was done to perfection. From the mess around her, Pansy guessed her male friend had left not too long ago. Without a word — barely even glancing at her best friend — she started up the stairs, towards her room and yanked the phone from the hook. The hospital had something to explain.

14th of July 2002  
She was furious. She had thought of every option, went past every possibility (and there were practically none) and finally found herself back at the Muggle Hospital. The doctor who treated her, twenty-nine-year old Barbara Fanning sat in front of her, staring unseeingly at a yellow folder in her hands.

“I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.

“Gee, I don’t know… Why not start with an explanation how I came to be pregnant!”

“Yes,” Barbara nodded, “that would be a good part to start.”

“You’d think?”

“One of our medicals made a mistake. The day of your check-up we had an IUI procedure as well.” 

“IUI—”

“I’m sorry love, I know you weren’t there for that treatment. IUI is short for Intrauterine Insemination. It’s a fertility procedure that involves placing sperm inside a woman’s uterus to facilitate fertilisation.” The woman explained slowly. “It’s similar to IVF but less expensive—”

“And you accidentally— You injected me with someone’s sperm?”

“Yes,” Barbara agreed, “that’s the short version of it.”

“How is that fucking possible? What kind of incompetent hellhole is this? And what about bloody contacting me? Do you know how I found out— No, wait, who’s sperm is it? What kind of moron do I have cooking into my oven?”

“That’s private information—”

“Private information?” She screeched and she noticed the lightbulbs in the ceiling flicker ominously, “what private information? I’m entitled to know whose— to know which unfortunate idiot is the father and—”

There was a knock on the door and one of Barbara’s colleges peered into the office. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight top knot and she wore thick, dark rimmed glasses. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Amanda, I’m fine.”

‘Not for long,’ Pansy thought furiously, fingering her wand and shifted in her seat. As if this day couldn’t get any worse, she needed to pee again. AGAIN.

“Miss Parkinson—”

“Miss Parkinson wants to fucking know whose sperm you injected into her womb!” Pansy screeched and the girl took a hesitant step back. “I think a rather reasonable request as I didn’t come here to get pregnant by a bloody stranger!”

“It’s— I get that you’re displeased—”

And that was when Pansy saw red. When the Aurors came twenty minutes later — impressively fast especially considering Pansy saw their orginasation as corrupt and pathetic — the office was in shambles and Barbara Fanning sat hiding under her desk, suddenly a vast believer of some God Pansy had no interest in. Harry Potter — because why could it not have been anyone else — trooped into the room first, his jaw set in a tight line and his eyebrows smashed together in a deep frown.

“What in the world happened here?”

She gave him the most poisonous look she could muster and for someone who undid the world from the Dark Lord, he looked strangely squeamish. “Parkinson, what the hell?”

“What the hell?” She asked slowly. “What. The. Hell?”

“You can’t just go attacking Muggles!” He told her derisively and the vase on the desk trembled in furious magical energy. 

“I had— I have every, absolutely ever right to hex that stupid, idiotic woman to next century!” She shrieked and Potter winced at the sound as if his ears rung from it. Ignoring his careful approach she crossed the office in a whirlwind of angry witch, snatched the file off the desktop and shouldered her way past two stupefied Aurors. 

“Parkinson,” Potter started, she was already halfway through the corridor, her steps brisk and fast, “you can’t just come here hex a woman— don’t you understand it has— would you stop walking, or do I have to arrest you?”

She ignored his words but did stop walking when she didn’t manage to pull the papers free from the file. Her hands shook and Potter— Potter was still reprimanding her. As if she cared. She didn’t. She cared for the name in this file and— if things for once could go her way — if there was a possible home address to this person. She wasn’t sure what she would do with the information.

“—Are you even listening?”

“Just for once, shut up and but your nose out of someone else’s business—” she wanted to say more, but her voice died in her throat when her eyes fell upon the name of the donor. It couldn’t be!

She felt the urge to laugh as a maniac but at the same time, she wanted to cry. This couldn’t be happening. 

“Parkinson?”

“T-this can’t be happening!” She stuttered, the papers in her hands quivering. “Not you!”

“What the fuck did I do?” He demanded taking a step back when she slammed the papers in his hands. 

“I know why your girlfriend did not conceive any child!” She cried, poking him so harshly in his chest that he winced. “Here, read your fucking papers. And when you’re ready to talk to me and deal with this: I’ll. Be. Home!”

And with that comment she Apparated with a loud crack.

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here is part two. Oh Harry, you can be such a silly boy. Saying stupid things to scary pregnant ladies is never a smart thing to do^^ Anyway, I hope you'll enjoyed this chapter, and I see you in two weeks:)
> 
> Enjoy this story. Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling


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